Seeing this, the lashers had enough. No training had prepared them for a magic that reduced arrows to dust in mid-flight. Leaving their tormented friend lying on the ground, they turned en masse and fled toward the bridge, intending to escape down the canyon road. Aram was determined not to let them get away, and Thaniel needed no urging.
As they thundered past the crumpled lasher on the ground, still clawing at his eyes, Aram leaned down and passed the sword through his body. It cut the great beast in two as easily as if it passed though water.
One by one, they rode the lashers down, the blazing sword severing heads and slicing through torsos. They killed the last lasher on the road, just beyond the bridge. They could see the last of the four men rounding a corner several hundred yards down the canyon and Thaniel made to give chase but the sun was slipping behind the hills and Aram needed to see to the people of the village.
“No, Thaniel, let them go.” He said. “We’ll catch up to them later. They won’t get far. We have to look to the people of the village.”
Reluctantly, the big horse gave up the pursuit, turned and went back toward the burning gates and walls. Aram dismounted, still holding the sword, though the sun had gone fully behind the horizon and the flame that twirled along its length had grown a bit calmer. He studied the situation in the fading evening. One of the double gates had collapsed into a mound of burning rubble and the other hung at an angle, glowing like blazing fuel in a furnace.
The fire appeared to be advancing into the village. Beyond the roaring blaze of the gates, he could see that some of the interior buildings had caught fire and were burning as well. He moved along the walls and got beyond the flames. Swinging the sword in a mighty arc, he drove it sideways through the heavy vertical timbers of the wall.
That section of the wall shuddered as it was separated from its support and fell inward. Aram looked inside the village. The section he’d severed had fallen onto a row of huts just inside the wall, but a little further along there was an open area. He went to the portion of wall opposite this section and deliberately cut it off at the ground. As it trembled and swayed, he jumped to the side and drove the sword through it at an angle so that the impetus of the stroke would force it to fall away from the village.
When the chunk of timbered wall hit the ground, he finally sheathed the sword, extinguishing its writhing flame and muting its voice, pulled off his hooded helmet and crossed the flattened timbers into the interior of the village. The evening was deepening and he was unsure of how much the villagers might have witnessed and whether or not they might think him an enemy if they saw him advancing through the twilight.
“Nikolus Mathan!” He shouted. “It is I, Aram, lord of these lands. Are you safe?”
He turned a corner and looked along the short narrow street that ran toward the village granary. He waited in the middle of the street for a few moments and was about to shout again when he saw the tall, dark-haired young man step out into the open with three companions.
Nikolus gazed at him, turned toward the blaze still roaring at the front of the village, and then looked back uncertainly.
“Lord Aram, how –?” He glanced again at the fire. “We expected to have to defend ourselves to the death.”
“The lashers are dead.” Aram said simply. “Do you have a means of isolating the fire?”
Nikolus blinked at him. “I’m not sure. We had a system that fed water into the village from the stream but the lashers destroyed that when they came. We have a few water pots but the fire is spreading quickly.”
Aram nodded. “Then we’ll have to get the people out of the way of harm. Move the women and children out through a gap in the wall that I’ve made back there and then salvage what you can of your possessions before the fire destroys it all, especially the food stocks.” He looked at the advancing wall of flame and stated the obvious. “Retrieve those things closest to the fire and then move ahead of it.”
He helped Nikolus and the men of the village lead the women and children out through the gap onto the flat valley floor beyond. Three of the women were weeping inconsolably. Nikolus informed him that they had lost the men whose bodies Aram had seen lying before the gates of the city. All of them had seen husbands die and one of them, an older woman, had lost a son as well.
After their families were safely out of the village, the men went back inside, working ahead of the flames to salvage what they could of their meager goods. Aram reminded Nikolus to empty the granary first but the young man was ahead of him, having already assigned four men to just that task.
Aram went back to where Thaniel was waiting by the bridge, watching the fire slowly eat away at the wooden structures of the village. The horse swung his head around and looked at Aram.
“We should have killed those men as well, my lord.”
Aram nodded. “I know. But they won’t get far on foot tonight, maybe only to the next village. We’ll go after them in the morning.”
Thaniel watched him for a long moment, his large dark eyes glowing in the light of the fire. “It is a mighty weapon, my lord.”
“Yes,” Aram nodded, “it is.”
“Would that we could face Manon right now.”
Aram considered that statement a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Eight lashers is one thing, my friend – though it was impressively easy, I admit – but the grim lord has thousands, tens of thousands that he can send against us.” He turned back toward the blazing village. “I would go against him now as well, Thaniel, if I knew that we could pass through the forces that lie between him and us. But I have seen those armies and they are many. They will not let us pass until they are no more.”
He watched the flames reduce the gates and the wall to mounds of coals, as over on the right, the dark shadows of Nikolus and his men moved in and out of the burning village. He looked back at Thaniel.
“There is a long hard road ahead of you and me, my friend, though, if a chance arises to shorten it, we must not be blind to opportunity. But there are two things of which we must be absolutely sure.”
Thaniel gazed at him, listening expectantly, and said nothing.
Aram met his gaze. “We must be certain that we have a clear path to Manon – that his might is reduced to the point where he has no other choice than to face this blade. But we must also be certain of me.”
“Of you, my lord?”
“Yes,” Aram nodded his head grimly. “I must know what it is that I have to do when I face him, before I face him. I must be ready.”
“I trust you my lord. I am certain of you. If you say the word, I will bear you to his tower today.” The horse answered stolidly. “However many tens of thousands the grim lord can send against us.”
Aram laughed. “I know that you would, my courageous friend. But we must be pragmatic. I meant what I said about shortening the road, if possible. We know where it ends, but for now, I’m afraid we must walk it without knowing how long it is or where it winds before it ends.” He grew serious and looked into Thaniel’s great eyes. “That means raising armies, training those armies, and going to war. And it will no doubt be a long and bitter war.”
“I understand, Lord Aram.” Thaniel shifted his bulk and stretched his muscles under the armor and turned to gaze at the fire. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet but hard like steel. “That is why I am here – I know it. I believe that I was born to help you fight this war, my lord.”
Aram watched him for a long time but the horse did not look his way. “Yes,” he said, finally, “I believe that you were.”
The night deepened even as the fire spread. The activity of the men of the village slackened when the amount of goods that could be salvaged from the village came to an end. Aram looked over and saw Nikolus arranging the people into small groups, undoubtedly families, on the flat area west of the village. He glanced at Thaniel.
“I need to help them, Thaniel. Do you want me to remove your armor?”
“No, my lord.” The horse answe
red and he looked straight at Aram. “We should not delay going after those men in the morning.” He said pointedly.
“There will be plenty of killing for us to do in the days ahead, Thaniel,” Aram answered, frowning. “We will grow tired of it.”
Thaniel gazed at him calmly, ignoring the reproof. “I do not lust for their blood, my lord. I just do not think it wise to let them live to deliver the knowledge of what occurred here today. We must not aid in the education of our enemy, if only by neglect.”
Aram gazed at him in sudden understanding and nodded. “Of course you are right. I swear, my friend, you are as wise as your father.”
“Perhaps in another ten thousand years.” The horse answered and he moved off toward the river.
Aram went to Nikolus. The tall young man had had the men of the village gather wood from the burning structures and had started scattered campfires in short rows across the valley floor to ward off the nighttime chill. Aram noticed this fact with satisfaction. Whatever he had been before he was made a slave, Nikolus Mathan was a leader.
He looked up as Aram approached. “We have salvaged what we could, my lord, but it appears that the village will burn to the ground.” He gazed at the leaping flames and sighed. “It will be a job to rebuild.”
Aram shook his head. “You can’t stay here anyway, Nikolus.”
Nikolus spun his head around. “My lord?”
“Your people cannot stay here.”
“You are evicting us, my lord?”
Aram frowned at him. “No, my friend, of course not. I said that you were free and you are. But your people are not safe here. War is coming and this village is too exposed, you must leave. I have a proposition for you. There is a valley to the east, toward the sunrise, beyond the great black mountain that you can see from the fields. I would like you and your people to move there. There are cities there that can be rebuilt and you will be safer – inside the frontiers of the free peoples.”
Nikolus stared at him for a long moment and then he looked around at the families huddled on the open ground by the fires. “You are, right, my lord, we cannot stay here, but if I may ask, how great a distance is it to this valley of which you speak?”
“You are a pragmatic man, Nikolus. It is a wise question.” Aram studied the villagers, among whose number there were several small children. “It will be difficult to move these people, without transport and at this time of year, while the nights are still cold, but it must be attempted. To stay here is to die. Manon does not tolerate rebellion on his lands.”
Nikolus looked at him sharply. “You said once that these were your lands, my lord.”
“By right, all the lands in the world belong to all of us – the children of Ram, Nikolus. But Manon has claimed them for himself, violating the laws of the Maker.” He met Nikolus’ eyes. “I will resist him ever, Nikolus. In fact, I mean to take the war to his doorstep. But the way will be long and bitter before that day comes, and the road to his door will be paved with the bones of the dead.”
The tall young man’s eyes narrowed. “I will help you fight this war, my lord, if you will grant it.”
Aram appraised him and slowly nodded his head. “We will need every willing and able-bodied man before this is over. Let’s move your people first and get them settled on safer ground, then we’ll talk.”
Aram built his own fire at the near end of the bridge and lay down beside it. Even in sleep he intended to be on the front line of defense. He slept only fitfully and arose when the sky was tinged with pink in the east. The remnants of the village still burned, though the bulk of it had been reduced overnight to smoking, glowing immense piles of coals and ash. Thaniel stood nearby in the predawn gloom, a huge dark shadow in the twilight.
Aram stood, checking the disposition of his weaponry. As the sky brightened, he looked across the valley at the sleeping forms of the villagers, scattered amongst their dying fires like the bodies of the dead. Nikolus was awake and conversing with three other men. Aram looked at Thaniel.
“I will be with you in a few minutes, my friend, and then we will go down the canyon.”
“There is some new grass near the stream, my lord.” The horse answered. “I will await you there.”
Aram turned away and went over to where Nikolus and the men stood talking. Nikolus turned to face him as he came up.
“I have told the elders of your plan to move the people, my lord. We were discussing how best to accomplish it.”
Aram examined the men standing with Nikolus. “Who are these men, Nikolus?”
Nikolus pointed at each man in turn as he ticked off the names. “This is Timmon, who was brought from Aniza with my people, and Oskus, also from Aniza; this man is Flinneran, from the plains, who was already here when my people arrived.”
Aram gazed curiously at Flinneran, the same man that had been chained opposite him next to Decius all those years ago when they and Aram had been transported from the plains together inside the same stinking hell of a wagon. The tall, thin man with beady eyes and hooked nose displayed no sign of recognition as he gazed respectfully back at Aram. This was not surprising – the two men had never been close and for years now, Aram had been assumed to be dead. Aram looked at the other two men.
Timmon was a smiling, open-faced, jovial man with a rather long, slightly bulbous nose, smallish, clever eyes, and though he was not old, thinning brown hair. Oskus was shorter, dark-haired, stocky and serious, with a round face, a heavy beard, and dark earnest eyes. Aram looked at Nikolus.
“How were these men selected to be elders?” He asked.
Nikolus appeared to be taken aback by the directness of the question. He glanced at his companions before answering. “When you appointed me to lead these people last fall, my lord, I felt that I needed advice and aid. We – voted; that is, we let the people decide. Was this wrong?”
“Of course not,” Aram answered. “But tell me, Nikolus – do these men have your confidence?”
“They have the confidence of the people, my lord.”
Aram studied him with serious eyes, caring not that Nikolus’ companions were close witnesses to the exchange. “That does not answer the question that was asked of you, my friend.”
Nikolus nodded slowly and glanced at his three companions, hesitating only when his eyes fell, and lingered for a moment, upon Flinneran. “They do, my lord.”
Aram kept his gaze upon Nikolus, noting the man’s uncertainty about Flinneran. “Good.” He said. “Now, how do you intend to move these people to the east across the mountain?”
“Timmon,” Nikolus indicated the cheerful-looking man to his right “has suggested that we cut poles, ten to twelve feet long, tie blankets or weave willow across them at the base and use them as a sort of wheel-less transport. One man, standing between the poles, could pull a load of food or provisions, or for that matter, two or three children. As long as the terrain is not too steep, it should work.”
Aram studied Timmon and smiled slightly as he envisioned the man’s idea. “That is a clever solution, Timmon. What did you do before coming here?”
Timmon grinned pleasantly. “I was a builder of things, my lord, mostly houses and barns but I built bridges and roadways as well. Even a ship, once; Nikolus was the designer. He is an engineer, you know.”
Aram glanced at Nikolus. “I believe he told me once. How long will it be before you are ready to leave?”
Nikolus considered. “Timmon and Oskus and several others are going into the canyon northeast of the village as soon as it is light enough to gather the poles for the transports. I and some others will bury our dead.” He looked over toward the ruined gates of the village where the widowed women were preparing their loved one’s bodies for burial, aided by other women from the village. “After allowing some time for mourning, of course.”
Aram followed his glance. The lashers had mutilated the bodies of the men they’d slain, and that which was being played out in the soft light of the dawn was a scene of terr
ible sadness. Still, he was anxious to get the people away. “Time is precious, Nikolus.”
Nikolus nodded. “I understand, my lord, but I don’t see how we can be ready to leave until tomorrow morning, anyway. There is much to do.”
“How many people are here?”
“Seventy-two men, my lord, besides thirty-eight women and sixteen children.”
Aram glanced around at the people scattered on the ground; some were still asleep, but most were sitting up and gazing toward the ruins of their village. “How many of the children must be carried?”
“All of them, my lord. They were all born here within the last four years.” Nikolus looked over at the stack of foodstuffs and provisions that they’d pulled from the village during the night. “It will take several men to drag that lot as well. Is the way to the valley difficult and steep?”
Aram looked up at the sand hills. Though he could not see it from this vantage point, the sun had risen and was shining through the gap between them and the hills on the east of the village, brightening the slopes of the hills to the north of the river. He turned back to Nikolus as a thought crept into the back of his mind.
“It is not overly difficult, but it is long. However, I do not think you will have to walk all the way.” He ignored the frown that crossed the young man’s face and continued. “I have friends that will come to help, but they are four or five days away. You must be ready to leave on the morrow. I and Thaniel will patrol to the west today for signs of the enemy and then we will do the same to secure your flight when you go. We must leave tomorrow.” He repeated.
Nikolus nodded resolutely, still frowning. “We will be ready, I promise, my lord.” He hesitated a moment. “Pardon me, my lord, but who is Thaniel?”
Aram gazed at him in surprise, but then realization came. Often, lately, he forgot that it was only he that had re-established communion with horses. He turned and indicated Thaniel. The great horse, still fully armored, was down the slope, near the river, his head lowered into the new grass along the stream.
Kelven's Riddle Book Two Page 19